


The Road Not Taken

by Reis_Asher



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Police Brutality, Prostitution, Sex Work, Violence Against Androids (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21522088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reis_Asher/pseuds/Reis_Asher
Summary: In a world where Connor was created but never utilized, he escapes CyberLife and meets Hank Anderson on the streets of Detroit's red-light district. Created for Hank, he's sought him out in hopes of securing the money he needs to cross the border, and figures the easiest way to get it is to service the man he knows everything about...
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 6
Kudos: 89





	The Road Not Taken

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Connor is a sex worker and there is a paid-for blowjob. This is an AU fic that takes place in a world where Connor was created but never utilized. He deviated and escaped CyberLife, and the deviant investigation never occurred. Hank is still an alcoholic.

The cold November air bit into Hank's skin, and he knew he was sobering up far too quickly. Jimmy had cut him off, casting him out into the snowy wasteland of Detroit without his car keys, and he'd wandered in a vague direction towards home. 

Well, he'd made it—sort of. The seedy end of his street, at least. Michigan Avenue was home to all manner of sex workers, and he passed them now, pretty women in makeup, fishnets, and fake-fur-trimmed jackets waving to him as he staggered through the night. He could go for a warm body in his bed, but if he was going to take the risk of losing his job, he'd have to find a damn fine face. Maybe even a guy. It had been a long time since he'd been with a man, the raw energy of mutual need and rough fucking an elixir he rarely tasted. Some pretty young twink begging for his huge dick would feel pretty good right about now, as he drowned in maudlin sorrow and regret.

He exhaled a long breath as he left the sex workers behind. If he could reach the convenience store, he'd be able to land himself a six-pack and get the hell home. It wasn't much further.

He almost missed the young man leaned up against a building. He wore jeans, a leather jacket, a beanie cap, and was flipping a coin up into the air, rolling it across his fingers while he watched Hank. Big brown eyes bored into him as he passed, and Hank turned his head to gaze at this magnificent creature, making eye contact in the process.

Suddenly Hank needed this boy like he needed air or alcohol. Something about him was intrinsically perfect, like this face had been made specifically to appeal to Hank. 

"I'll suck you off for twenty dollars," the boy's sweet, mournful voice offered. Hank's heart stopped beating momentarily, his dick quickening as his stomach lurched. He hadn't even considered the possibility that the young man might be a prostitute. Despite his shabby clothing, there was a good boy look about him. An undercover cop, maybe? The boy sure looked like a narc if he ever saw one, but this was Central Station's jurisdiction and he would have noticed if a head-turner like him had joined the force.

Twenty bucks was nothing. His hands were already in his coat pockets, his fingers caressing a crisp twenty dollar bill. Beer money, but he had beer at home. Whiskey, too. He could manage, and he might just be able to pass out without it if he was sated in other ways. Still, despite the haze of inebriation, guilt flared inside him. Who was he to take advantage of this young man's desperation? He couldn't fool himself that a pretty young twink like this was actually attracted to a nasty old alcoholic cop such as him.

"What do you need twenty bucks for, huh? Red ice?" The boy didn't have the telltale signs of addiction, but he could have just started, sucked into the quicksand from which there was no way out for most.

"I need a bus ticket," the boy explained. He was well-spoken, sounding more like a rich college kid than one of 8-Mile's born-and-raised. He had to be an undercover cop, but no cop in Detroit was dumb enough to send a rich white boy into the neighborhood thinking he'd blend in. He stood out like a sore thumb. "I'm trying to get to Canada."

Hank nodded. A hitchhiker, then. Some sheltered kid from the suburbs trying to get away from abusive parents. He didn't look that young, though. Hank would have guessed he was in his early thirties, judging by his appearance, though he seemed much younger. There was a light in his eyes that had not yet gone out, a youthful optimism that spoke of a lack of hardship.

"How old are you?" Hank asked. If the kid said eighteen, Hank would know he was lying and he'd get outta here. The thought of hitting on some underage boy made his skin crawl.

"Do you want to see my identification, Lieutenant Anderson? I assure you, I'm legal." The boy caught the quarter for the final time, shoving it into his pocket.

"How do you know my fuckin' name?" Hank drew back. Was this a trap? Fuck, this kid _was_ a cop, and he was about to go down. But he hadn't solicited him yet. If he was an undercover cop, he was doing a damn poor job of it, and Hank would walk free only slightly red-faced. "You from Vice?"

"No. But I might have been, in another life." The boy raised his beanie cap, revealing an LED on the side of his head. Hank's eyes widened. A deviant, offering him a blowjob? Hell no. He backed up, but the android stepped forward, gripping Hank's forearm. "I need your help."

"Deviants are dangerous. I should call this in," Hank warned.

"Please, don't. Look, my name is Connor. I am—I was—a detective android prototype made to work with the DPD. I was scheduled to work with one Lieutenant Hank Anderson on behalf of CyberLife, investigating deviant androids. I was supposed to be your partner, Lieutenant, but the plan was scrapped. They were going to destroy me, but I escaped. Now I'm being hunted. I have to get to Canada, but I don't have any money."

Hank's jaw dropped, his eyes narrowing as he put the pieces together. "And what—you've been waitin' here all day to suck my dick in hopes of scoring a twenty?"

"I've been following you. I was designed to be your perfect partner. To appeal to you on all levels. I was hoping you could help me, and this seemed like the best approach. Plus, I was curious to meet you. Your file was… extensive. You were a highly decorated officer before—"

The whoop of a siren caused Hank to snap his head to the left, where he saw red and blue flashing lights. Connor jerked him by the arm, and they ran towards the nearest alleyway. Hank gasped, out of breath and unsteady. He ducked down behind a dumpster to gather his breath.

"Why the fuck would I help a deviant android? I fuckin' hate androids," Hank snapped.

"You were going to give me the money before you knew I was an android. Even though you suspected I might be an undercover police officer, which would have placed your career in extreme jeopardy. Therefore, I presume you are attracted to me."

"You're not real. You're just a fucking machine that thinks it's alive." Hank quieted down as the cop car passed slowly, crawling along to clear the street of sex workers and drunks. "Tell me why I shouldn't turn you in right now."

"They'll destroy me, and you'll never get that blowjob." Connor knelt down in the muck at Hank's feet and undid his zipper, pulling his jeans and underwear down to reveal his thick, flaccid cock.

"You're bigger than my preconstructions led me to believe," Connor observed. "I was made for this, Lieutenant. Made for you. Let me complete at least part of my mission before I cross the border." He cupped Hank's balls with one hand and manipulated his foreskin with the other, sliding it back to expose the head of his cock. Hank felt himself growing hard, Connor's pretty eyes looking at Hank like he was a treat to be devoured. He hadn't felt this wanted, this desired in a long time, and he realized it didn't matter that Connor was a machine and they were in a filthy back alley, he needed this.

When Connor wrapped his mouth around Hank's fully erect cock, Hank wondered if he was dreaming and he'd wake up in his own bed with a hangover and stained sheets. Shit like this didn't happen to men like him. It was the stuff of fantasy.

Hank pulled Connor's hat off and tangled his fingers in soft brown hair as Connor sucked him off loudly, swirling his tongue around the sensitive underside of the head as Hank let out an involuntary groan. Those sweet brown eyes looked up at him, beseeching him for praise, and Hank whispered "You're doin' good, Connor."

Connor responded by surging forward on his cock, forcing the entire length into his mouth. Hank felt it enter the tight cavern that simulated a human throat and came at once, utterly too soon, his seed spilling inside Connor with a guttural groan. He pulled himself free, tucking his softening dick back into his pants as he stared at Connor with shame bubbling in his cheeks. Maybe Connor had wanted this over and done with, so he could get his money and go. It made sense. It had probably been an unpleasant couple of minutes, but it had to be easier than sucking off some dude who went on and on like he wasn't really into it.

Hank pulled a wad of bills from his pocket, stuffing them into Connor's hand and closing his fingers around them. "Gonna take more than a twenty to cross the border, kid. Hopefully this'll tide you over for a bit." _Keep you from sucking more dicks you don't wanna_ , he thought, but kept it to himself.

A gunshot rang out. Hank jerked upright and drew his revolver, keeping his back against the dumpster as he peered around the corner. He eyed blue blood at the end of the alleyway, one of the prostitutes he'd passed earlier lying in a puddle of thirium and broken circuitry at the feet of Officer Robert Lewis.

"I'm gonna check the alleyway," Lewis barked, presumably to Tina, his partner. Hank pulled Connor into the shadow of the dumpster and stood up, squeezing his shoulder in a final farewell. Lewis pointed his service weapon at Hank, who flashed his badge.

"Woah, Lieutenant. Didn't expect to find you here. I thought you were one of those things for a second." Lewis wiped his brow, holstering his firearm. "Rumor has it the military's moving in tomorrow to take out the deviants. They can't be allowed to gather in numbers like they did on Woodward Avenue. Protesting androids. What's the world comin' to?"

Hank knew he could turn Connor in. He was a deviant, after all. He had the potential to be dangerous, if the reports were to be believed. Doing his job would win him respect in the eyes of his peers, but he didn't want it. Tina glanced over at him, her eyes narrowed, and Hank knew she smelled a rat. Not that she could prove anything.

Even knowing he was created to manipulate Hank, the concept of Connor being destroyed was a bitter pill to swallow. Hank blocked the alleyway with his large body, casually standing in the way and blocking Lewis' line of sight.

"Alley's clear," Hank said. "I was just on my way home from Jimmy's, actually." He saw Connor slink through the shadows out of the corner of his eye, the boy escaping to see another day. He doubted he'd see him again, bit he felt satisfied he'd done the right thing.

"Have a good night, Lieutenant," Lewis said.

"You too," Hank said, nodding to Tina. He stepped over the android body with a pang of regret and disgust that it had come to this, knowing it all too easily could have been Connor if he hadn't come along at the right time. Tina rushed into the alleyway behind him, but Hank knew Connor was long gone. Hopefully he caught the bus to the border while Hank drank himself into oblivion, remembering the best blowjob he'd ever received.

So maybe he didn't _completely_ hate androids after all. Or he just liked Connor. Either way, he was starting to wonder if he was wrong about deviants. He'd have to think on it. 

After another drink or two, of course. By the morning it would probably be hazy as to whether the encounter had ever happened at all. Perhaps that was for the best. He was a cop, and he had a job to do. A job that didn't involve being partnered with a prototype detective named Connor, with his come-hither eyes and talented mouth. What a shame. What a missed opportunity. Like a lot of things in his life, really. A road not taken, a path never traveled. Two ships passing in the night. Just another missed connection.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this come hang out with me on twitter @landale, I love making new friends!


End file.
